Page 49 of The Knockout Rule

“And the rest is history,” she said bitterly. The quiet kid who’d loved language had tossed it all away for a chance at the brass ring.

“I’m a boxer, Isla. It’s my job and what I need to do to support my family. I have a shitty contract on this fight. If I lose, I’ll barely make enough to cover my expenses. I fight to win and give my family the life they deserve.” He pressed his thighs to the outsides of her hips, steadying her, still holding her hands tight.

Eric was a smart man. The sort who boxed and lived his life with an eye on the endgame, a chess player planning several moves ahead. He’d probably orchestrated their current intimate position from the get-go—moving to sit, then moving closer to her, so when they talked boxing, she couldn’t freak out and run.

She wanted to run, though. Flee the cramping in her chest, the clamminess overtaking her palms. “I know why you box, but you don’t understand how hard this is for me.” How hard she’d fought to get her life back after watching her father get hurt time and again. How she’d have to watch that great man deteriorate because of their barbaric sport.

Eric’s forehead puckered. “It’s hard for me, too. The last thing I need or want is to fall for someone while training. That kind of distraction can kill my focus, but I’ve been dealing with a worse distraction lately.”

Fall for someone. Fall for her.

His calloused fingers scraped her hands. He smelled like the definition of a man—musky and rustic, like he’d been in the forest chopping wood, his ridiculous television performance come to life. If she leaned in an inch, her lips would touch his. She wanted that taste more than she wanted a coffee date with Ramona Estle. She’d also never been this nervous to kiss a man.

“What’s been distracting you?” she whispered, terrified of how much she wanted him.

He lifted her hands and brushed his nose along the pulse point at her wrist. He inhaled deeply, then released a sexy grunt. “Trying not to think about you has been consuming my thoughts. Knowing you went out with Preston put me in a particularly foul mood, and I was the one who pushed for that.” He paused, ran his tongue over his teeth. “Are you interested in him?”

In her mind, the answer was a quick no. Preston had been fun and offered a distraction from what she really wanted: the man watching her with piercing gray eyes. But the question was a double-edged sword. She’d already admitted her feelings for Eric. If she said she wasn’t interested in Preston, there was no going back. The door to her heart would be kicked so wide open she might never get it shut.

She settled for a neutral, “I don’t know.”

I don’t know if I can survive you.

Eric’s answering frown was so genuine and endearing she almost took back the lie.

“So you had fun on your date,” he said, flat.

They shouldn’t be talking about her date with another guy. Everything about this scenario was beyond messed up. Preston was his manager and friend, and she’d only dig herself deeper with more lies. She settled on a bit of truth. “Preston admitted you two talked about me, that you told him I love poetry. Which is fine,” she added, when he looked about to apologize. “He came armed with beautiful, prepared words and brought me lovely flowers and took me to a surprisingly quaint restaurant. I’m not sure if the chemistry’s there, but all of that was unexpected and nice. I agreed to go out again for drinks.”

Instead of getting frustrated or upset, Eric grinned, a slow smile spreading as he laughed softly.

She didn’t recall telling a joke. “What’s so funny?”

He dropped her hands and rubbed at his eyes. “Isla, the reason you liked that side of Preston—the flowers and poem and restaurant—is because—”

Isla’s phone rang. The specific ringtone she’d set up for her father.

14

Isla hurried to her purse and fumbled around until her phone was pressed to her ear. “Hello?”

“Are you with Brick?”

Pulse racing, she glanced at the man in question. He was focused on her, as was Whit, both boys watching her with concern. Already, she missed being close to Eric, listening to his deep voice as he talked about his childhood. As challenging as her feelings for him were, facing the reality of her father’s worried tone was miles worse.

She turned her back to Eric and dropped her voice. “I am.”

“Don’t tell him it’s me. I’ll call him in a bit. I’m feeling off today, more tired than usual and nauseous. We’re supposed to train in an hour. I’m sending DeAndre instead. I’ll tell Brick I promised to take you out.”

“You’re feeling sick?” Her voice wobbled. She pictured him in the hallway after their dinner, his loss of balance. “What can I do?”

“Keep it together, Princess. This is why you’re here. Preston and Brick know I planned to spend time with you. I just need you to go along with it.”

“Okay, fine, but I’m coming up.”

“No, you’re not. The door will be locked. I’ll be resting. We’ll talk later.”

He hung up, but she didn’t lower the phone. She gripped the device harder as she recalled his stubborn words that had convinced her to come on this trip: If I rest, I die.